GHOST CANYON
A Fernando Lopez Santa Fe Mystery

Shadows in the Ruins
     
            Pete Chavez waited until the last streaks of crimson faded from the western sky. The canyon plunged into darkness as he left the visitor center and walked to the staff jeep parked outside. He’d been assigned to do the evening security check and lock-up this week, a duty the rangers rotated weekly. One of them had to lock the gate every evening at sunset and drive around the eight-mile Chaco loop to make sure everyone was out of the park. Leaving it open at night would invite looters, night photographers and others who could engage in nefarious activity that would damage the fragile, 1200-year-old ruins. Opening at seven in the morning and closing at sunset kept visitors on the straight and narrow–most of the time.
            Pete climbed into the jeep and hit the ignition and then the lights. Their twin beams revealed the hulking shadow of North Mesa straight ahead. He drove around the short curve to the metal gate and jumped out of the jeep. Locking the gate behind him, he noticed a three-quarter moon rising over Chacra Mesa at the east end of the canyon. Back on the road, he drove off slowly into the darkness. On the other side of the one-way Chaco Loop he saw a last vehicle approaching the exit gate, which he would close and lock on his way out.
            Other than his jeep and the other vehicle, not a single light shone in the dark canyon. The twin beams of his headlights revealed the empty asphalt ahead. He always drove slowly at night to avoid the deer and elk herds that lived in the canyon and came down from the mesas to feed in the wash at night. He prided himself on never having hit any of the magnificent animals, something he couldn’t say about a couple of the other rangers.
            So when he saw the black object in his headlights he had plenty of time to apply his brake. Slowing down, he approached what turned out to be a large buck elk with seven or eight point antlers and mottled fur, indicating it had not totally shed its winter coat. The animal seemed confused, moving forward and backward and then turning in a circle as if it had lost its inner compass. He stopped the jeep and was about to get out when the elk lowered its head and charged.
            The animal’s antlers struck the driver’s side of the jeep as Pete recoiled from the door. The crazed animal bounced off the jeep and then disappeared into the saltbush along the road. Vanished.
            Shaken, he put the jeep in gear and drove off down the road. Did the animal have rabies? How else explain its erratic behavior?
            He drove even slower now, afraid of what he might encounter next. Past the Hungo Pavi and Chetro Ketl ruins, their crumbling stone walls now illuminated by the moonlight. Only the empty doorways and windows remained pitch black, concealing their dark interiors. The windows especially looked like gigantic eyes watching him from afar.
            Now he approached the massive Pueblo Bonito ruin, a 650-room Great House built at the foot of North Mesa. Usually he bypassed the parking lot and continued on around the Chaco Loop. Tonight he pulled into the Bonito parking lot and stopped, still disturbed by his encounter with the elk. He turned off the engine and sat thinking in the open jeep, trying to decide whether he should report the incident to county animal control.
            Suddenly lights flickered behind Pueblo Bonito. Or was he imagining them? Spooked now, he grabbed his flashlight and climbed out of the jeep. They hadn’t encountered any night hikers or photographers in months. He didn’t want to think about the other possibility: that someone could be digging illegally, searching for ancient pots or jewelry. Looting.
            Unfortunately, his flashlight batteries were weak. He kept shaking the flashlight to keep the light on as he walked down the trail to Pueblo Bonito. He saw the light again, more of a glow now. It seemed to be coming from the northwest corner of the Great House, near the base of North Mesa. He decided against going around behind Bonito because it was shaded from the moonlight and too dark. Instead, he walked up to the south wall and switched off his flashlight.
            He waited a moment to give his eyes time to adjust to the semi-darkness and then stepped through an ancient doorway into an open plaza. Blocks of rooms surrounded the plaza in a semicircle, their jagged walls casting grotesque shadows on the white sand of the plaza. He crept along the north-south wall into the heart of the ruin. As he moved into the shadows, he heard what sounded like a shovel or pickaxe striking stone. Now he was certain looters were digging in the ruin. He paused for a moment, considering whether to return to the visitor center for reinforcements. The looters could be armed and dangerous.
            Suddenly the light ahead went out and the digging stopped. They had noticed his presence. It was too late to go back.
            He held the flashlight tightly, his only weapon. With his left hand out in front and his right hand holding the flashlight he crept forward toward where he had heard the noise. He came to a stairway down into a block of connected rooms. Feeling with his foot, he moved down the stairway step by step. He sensed movement in the room but resisted turning on his flashlight.
            Just as he reached the bottom a flash of light illuminated the room. Blinded, he covered his eyes momentarily. When he opened them he saw a shadow, what looked like a black figure coming out of the light. He wore a long black duster and a wide-brimmed hat and seemed to float across the room toward him, reaching out a hand now, trying to communicate.
            He shrank back, away from the probing hand.
            Suddenly he lost his balance and stumbled backward. Then out of the corner of his eye he saw the flash of an object. The blow to the side of his head pitched him forward into darkness.